


Our Progress and Our Instability

by MamzelleCombeferre



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emetophobia, Gen, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamzelleCombeferre/pseuds/MamzelleCombeferre
Summary: A continuation of “Ship in a Bottle.” Molly worries about his roommate and friend. In the face of a literal god, there is seemingly little Molly can do, but he tries to offer comfort as best he can.





	Our Progress and Our Instability

**Author's Note:**

> (Title from the song “The Sea of Atlas” by Sleeping at Last)

The days following their conflict in the safe house passed same as ever. With the exception of the occasional small conflict, there was never much variation in travel. Long days on the road bleed into each other, passing time marked only by the shifts in light and in conversation. It was for all intents and purposes like any other day, but for the fact that their resident warlock had slipped into a trance like state, absorbed a weird stone, and then explained to the group that he not only didn’t know what was happening to him, but that it had started after he had- or nearly had -drowned.

The group watched over Fjord as he tried to sleep on their first day of travel in the cart, taking turns to make sure he was safe. During his turn Molly spent his time musing. The half-orc’s life had not been easy. Fjord had hinted as much with his occasional off the cuff remark, and had confirmed it in the safe house. _He was very good to me, when a lot of people in my life haven’t been._ The way Fjord seemed to pull into himself even as he put himself out there as the face of their little party of weirdos and assholes was surprising until you started talking to the guy. Everything he did, everything he said, it was tinged with just the faintest air of self-consciousness. He sounded the way Caleb looked any time someone said something vaguely kind to him.

It was the reaction of someone who’d had the rug pulled out from under them one too many times, and Molly didn’t like it one bit.

So, he did his best to be kind to Fjord, not more than usual, but with extra intention. Molly still gave him a friendly fucking with sometimes, of course, but like he had with the circus- his family -and never more than he knew the half-orc could take in good nature.

In the safe house though, well Molly felt like he might have taken it too far. He shouldn’t have dunked Fjord’s head under the salt water like that without checking first, especially after what the half-orc had shared with them. It was a small thing, but the road to hell was paved with small good intentioned things, Molly would know. Fjord didn’t seem to care, he had, after all, asked Molly to repeat the same gesture on purpose just moments later, but Molly couldn’t shake the nagging guilty anxiety that buzzed softly at the back of his mind. Fjord had been vulnerable, had made himself vulnerable in that moment, and Molly had been a petty shit with a silly grudge that fizzled almost as soon as it had reared its ugly little head.

Fjord never managed deep sleep. Instead he tossed and turned, and spent a lot of time pretending to rest, measured breaths too deliberate to be real relaxation.

On the second day of travel Fjord didn’t even try to sleep, just sat on the back W.C. with a pensive lost stare, not wholly unlike some of Caleb’s more distant gazes. The group had quietly decided that Fjord should avoid walking this trip, and though they never said anything to him, Fjord seemed not to mind the arrangement. Now, on the third day of their journey back to the gentleman Fjord looks the worse for wear, dark green bags under his eyes and a messy look about him that was at odds with his usual personal control.  
As the city gates of Zadash came into view a palpable relief passed over the whole of the Nein. Despite the late hour, the promise of a room and bed without two-inches of swamp water on the floor lifted all their spirits a bit. They visited the Gentleman first to report on their mission, doing their best to muddle through as Fjord drifted in and out of the conversation.

That night, after the others had unpacked and gone to their respective rooms, Molly stayed downstairs to watch his roommate sit at the bar and knock back glass after glass of whisky, all the while with that same intense look of uncertainty. After an hour of this Molly can’t just watch anymore. He approached the half-orc, placing a hand on his shoulder by way of warning, and nearly got punched in the face for his efforts.

“Fuck Molly! Give a man some warning.” Fjord says, scrubbing his eyes with what had been a ready fist seconds before.

Molly raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry friend didn’t mean to scare.” That bottle was emptier that he’d expected, and he thought about grabbing it and placing it back behind the counter. “Might want to slow down on that.”

The Molly’s surprise Fjord barks a sharp ugly laugh. “That’s rich, Molly. I saw how hungover you were the day after that gnoll fight in Alfield.” And before Molly can try to protest, Fjord barrels onward, “And don’t try to tell me that was different. Ain’t nothing different about it.”

The end is a jumble, and for a brief second Molly swears Fjord’s accent had changed. He raises his hands in surrender again though, to avoid provoking an argument. The half-orc was right. There wasn’t much different about this and what he had done to deal with his anxiety in Alfield. Didn’t make it right though. Didn’t make it healthy. He turns the gesture into a wave at the barmaid who had just re-rounded the corner from the kitchen. “Another glass please?” Molly didn’t have to like Fjord’s chosen coping method, but he also didn’t have to let the half-orc go it alone.

“Anything you’d like sir.” She says, grabbing one from behind the counter to hand him. Her accent twists around the words, thick with fatigue, and he makes a note to leave her a large tip. She leaves them alone once more, so Molly tips his glass toward the bottle until Fjord gives a shrug of permission and slides it closer. Molly grabs the bottle, now even less full than it had been when he first sat down and pours himself a sizeable glass. He downs half of it in one sip, practiced masking the burn as it claws down his throat. They sit in silence for a minute, five minutes, twenty minutes. Molly just continues to sip at his drink, slower now, while Fjord downs his full glass in two continuous gulps.

If there’s anything he has learned from his time with the circus was that you can’t press these matters. People’ll talk when they’re ready to- he knows that perhaps better than anyone, though certainly in a more literal sense. After a moment more though, he breaks the silence to ask, “Copper for your thoughts?” Not expecting it to yield any results.

The alcohol has clearly made its way to Fjord’s head, his cheeks flushed and his eyes uncomfortably bright and glazed. “Don’ have anythin’ to say.” He mumbles, words so slurred Molly almost doesn’t catch it.”

The man looks terrible, and Molly doesn’t like that sheen of sweat covering Fjord’s green skin, doesn’t like the caged and exhausted look of Fjord’s eyes, or the way his hands start to reach for any distraction, settling on the red cord around his waist.

“You need to get some sleep Fjord.” Molly says, trying to keep his voice free of force or worry. He’s not sure he succeeds entirely but continues nonetheless. “I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep more than a wink in three days.” None of them had.

“Don’ wan’ t’a sleep.” The half-orc says, “Th’ dreams…” Fjord trails off and Molly’s heart breaks.

“You’re already exhausted. Going to make yourself ill if you haven’t already.” And as if to punctuate that point, Molly places his now empty glass on the counter, and reaches a hand to rest the back of it against Fjord’s forehead. It radiates heat like one of Caleb’s arcane fires, even as the skin itself is clammy with sweat.

Fjord doesn’t move, but slurs, “M’m not ill.” Tears gather at the corners of his yellow eyes, the rims red and angry looking.

Molly tuts and almost has to laugh at how much he sounds like Orna. If she could see him now she would laugh, but then she’d smile in that way she did when she thought no one was looking. “That fever says otherwise. C’mon, up to bed with you. The room’s ready.” He slides off the stool, placing another gold piece on the counter for the barmaid to pick up on her way out. He grabs the half-orc’s shoulders, twisting gently so Fjord also slides off to stand unsteadily against the bar.

Fjord starts to cry, giant silent tears as they walk up the stairs. Molly says nothing, just balances Fjord with his shoulders as they make their way to the room. Once inside Molly helps Fjord strip out of his leathers down to his underclothes, leaving it there to preserve a sense of modesty. Fjord had never been shy before, but who knew how his roommate was feeling in that moment. Safe was always better than sorry in these sorts of situations.

The underclothes are damp though, and Molly lays Fjord down on top of the coverings instead of underneath. “Got to get that temp down.” He explains when Fjord goes to reach for the blanket. He undresses himself quickly, wrapping his swords in his coat. When he is reasonably comfortable for the evening he grabs the cloth on the nightstand, pours a sizeable glass worth of water from the pitcher into a dented copper basin, and soaks the rag in it. After he squeezes out the excess water, a couple of twists in the air help cool it, and Molly lays it on the side of Fjord’s sleeping face.

*****

The night passes uneventfully to Molly’s intense relief. Waking up extra early came naturally to him used as he was to circus traveling hours, most of which was done in the coolest hours of the morning and the evening. He putters about the room for a moment like a worried mother hen, checking on Fjord to make sure he was still sleeping. Satisfied that he was, Molly went to gather his clothes for the washroom, then thought better of it, grabbing the small garbage bin from the corner by the door to place on the floor by Fjord’s head before leaving to bathe.

When he gets back the sound of retching is unmistakable. Fjord is bent over the side of the bed, breathing heavily, and Molly quickly closes the gap between the two of them, rubbing circles into Fjord’s all too tense shoulders until the episode passes. The half-orc’s skin still feels warm through his undershirt, but less so than it had the night before. The fever had lowered itself then, and that was promising, even it had not disappeared completely.

Molly helps Fjord lay back over, trying his best not to scrunch his nose at the smell emanating from the bin now. “Won’t ask how you feel ‘cause that would just be stupid, but do you want me to grab Jester?”

Fjord shakes his head quickly, wincing and going a little pale at the motion. He shuts his eyes quickly and sucks in air through his teeth.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll have to let the others know how you’re feeling sooner or later though.” Molly grabs the cloth off the pillow where it presumably slipped off during the night.   
“That’s a wicked hangover you’ve got there, I’m sure.” He tried to keep his tone light, though he faltered when Fjord groaned, slinging an arm over his eyes to block out the light slipping between the window curtains.

While Molly goes through the same steps to cool the rag that he had last night, Fjord mumbles around his arm. “I feel like shit, Molly.” It’s obvious, but honest.

“You look like shit.” Molly fires back, twisting the rag one more time before laying it back over Fjord’s forehead. “You know you sucked down two-thirds of a bottle of whisky on your own last night.” He stands at the corner of the bed, leaned against the post.

Fjord groaned again. “Haven’t drank like that since I was a teen.”

“With good reason, I see. You weren’t sloppy, but you certainly weren’t all there ya know?” Molly says, a little clip of anxiety cracking on the last word. The silence after that is deafening, and Molly almost thinks Fjord has fallen asleep again until the half-orc coughs lightly.

Molly sighs. “Are you okay Fjord?” The question hangs there, clearly about much more than a bad hangover.

The silence persists again.

Molly almost gets up to leave when he hears Fjord, just barely audible say, “Not sure I am.”

A wave of anger rushes through Molly, fast and bright and burning. He’ll fight every person who ever made this good and loyal man feel this low, even if it means taking on a literal god. Wouldn’t be the first blasphemous thing Molly had done, though it would certainly be the most noble of those deeds. Molly sits on the edge of the bed, places a hand on his roommate’s chest, feeling it rise and fall. “You know we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, not just Jester. All of us. You know that right?” And if no one else will, well then I’ll do it on my own- he promises right then and there.

He feels Fjord’s chest rise and then hitch a little on the fall, a small sob escaping between tightly squeezed teeth and lips. “I know a little something about feeling out of control. Best thing you can do is rely on your friends.”

Fjord doesn’t answer right away, just keeps sobbing for what seems like forever, but is really only maybe half an hour. The sun is properly in the sky now. Soon as hears Fjord’s breaths even out again, he leans down and presses a kiss to Fjord’s forehead through the damp cool cloth. “You don’t have to do this alone.” He says, then stands up, stretching his shoulders which had tensed up tight. “I’m going to grab some breakfast downstairs. I’ll check on you soon,” Then after a beat. “Get some more rest.”

As he walks out the door, he just barely makes out a soft and grateful, “Thanks.”


End file.
